


Driven to Distraction

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Car Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Zach was in a position to be picky about their surroundings, he might note that it isn’t the most romantic place for a tryst, but he is about to have sex in a car for the first time since he was nineteen, so he figures that beggars can’t be choosers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driven to Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a fill for [this](http://pintokinkmeme.livejournal.com/1138.html?thread=334450#t334450) kink meme prompt.

“You’re scowling, baby.”

Chris is staring down at his drink like he is trying to figure out how to dive into it and disappear. While Zach is sympathetic to the plight of the introvert, and he knows how much energy it has to take to power that million-watt smile for a whole night, he would hate for the other party guests to get into their cars later tonight and talk the whole way home about how rude Chris Pine is. And this crowd totally would, too. They’re all pretentious, impossible-to-please assholes who love to have someone or something to look down on. Zach knows this because half of them are acquaintances of his, and, well, birds of a feather and all that.

The endearment he murmurs in Chris’s ear earns Zach the barest hint of a smirk though and, even better, the tiniest peek at Chris’s pink tongue as it darts over his lips. Zach gives his shoulder a little squeeze and then looks down into his glass.

“We can go after you finish your drink if you want,” he offers. As much as he loves dragging Chris to these things and showing him off, he feels a little guilty for the fact that this is the third time they have gone out in three days, and Chris is probably wanting a day off from the entire human race at this point. The man can live on three hours of sleep, given enough coffee and cigarettes, but put him in a room full of people for three hours and he looks about ready to keel over.

Chris shoots him a cheeky grin and then downs the rest of his vodka soda in one long gulp. “Oops. Looks like I’m done.”

Zach should have seen that one coming. He rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, I have to go say goodbye to some people, so just give me ten minutes.” Then, because he really _does_ feel guilty, he leans in close to Chris’s ear again and slides his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “I swear I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

“You damn well better.” Chris is trying for cocksure, but Zach hears the little hitch in his breath and he pulls back just in time to notice the way his cheeks redden a little bit. Unfortunately for Chris, that's practically an engraved invitation for Zach to mess with him a little bit more.

“Mmm, I promise. I’ll make it up to you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” Zach murmurs, his voice low enough so as not to be heard above the noise of the party. He watches with satisfaction as the flush spreads down Chris’s neck and the blue in his eyes starts to get edged out by the black of his dilating pupils. 

“You son of a bitch,” Chris says, but the insult isn’t very convincing when his voice is shaking a little bit and he is looking at Zach like he wouldn’t mind jumping him right then and there.

Zach knows that Chris is no exhibitionist though, so he refrains from pressing any more buttons, just flashes a shit-eating grin and gives Chris’s cheek a pat, feeling his skin burning against his palm. Then, he slides away and waggles his fingers at him. “Be right back. Ten minutes.”

Of course, it isn’t ten minutes. Zach’s theater friends could all talk the hind leg off a donkey given the chance, and each goodbye takes about twice as long as it should. It’s half an hour by the time he finds Chris again, hovering by the coat closet and looking agitated. 

“How does time work in your world, Zachary?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone is clipped, but the way his eyes slide slowly from Zach’s face to his shoes and back again tells him that Chris is less irritated than he is impatient. Zach wonders if he is already half-hard in his jeans, just from waiting here for Zach and thinking about what’s going to happen when they get home. It takes a lot of willpower not to reach out and palm his crotch just to find out.

“Sorry, sorry,” Zach says, trying to make his voice sound as contrite as he can. He gives Chris’s bicep a squeeze and then slides his hand down to his elbow so he can tug him along. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Chris says a little breathlessly, his annoyance evidently forgotten in the face of imminent escape. He nearly trips over his feet a little bit in his efforts to keep up with Zach’s purposeful strides toward the door.

Chris drove them to the party, so they are in his Benz, but Zach snags the keys out of his hand on the way back to the car. “I saw you knock back at least four of those vodka sodas. I’m driving.”

Either because he knows Zach has a point or because he is too distracted to care, Chris makes no attempt to argue. “Just be careful with my baby.”

Zach rolls his eyes, unimpressed by the alpha male, I-have-a-special-relationship-with-my-car shit, but he bites his tongue and slides behind the wheel, then takes a moment to fiddle with the seat controls until it shifts back far enough to accommodate his longer legs.

“Should I put the top up?” he asks Chris as he sticks the key in the ignition.

“Nah, it’s a nice night. Leave it down.”

Zach shrugs, then starts the car and pulls out onto the road.

The route back to Chris’s house will take them mainly through the hills along back roads and through neighborhoods, so Zach keeps the radio off out of courtesy to all the people who are probably sleeping given the late hour. He tries for a few minutes to fill the silence with talk about the party instead, but Chris just gives him grunts and single-word responses until it is more than clear that his mind is not on making conversation at the moment. Zach has to try very hard not to smirk when he thinks about why that might be. 

The thing is, Chris isn’t subtle. He keeps shifting in his seat, pulling at the crotch of his jeans, and licking his lips. Zach feels like he is a magpie and that flash of tongue is the gleam of precious metal in the sun. It keeps stealing his attention and drawing his eyes away from the road, but he is always a little too slow to catch him in the act. Not that the view of Chris’s spit-slicked lips in the glow of the moonlight and the streetlights is much less appealing.

It only takes eight minutes of driving before Chris cracks.

“Zach,” he says, his voice unexpectedly desperate. “Zach, pull over.”

Zach tightens his grip on the steering wheel and glances at their surroundings. They are in a residential area, and even though the houses are set back from the road and spaced far apart, it wouldn’t exactly be a good idea to pull to the side of the road and give Chris what he wants _right here_.

“We’ll be home in fifteen minutes, Chris,” Zach says with more patience than he feels. “You’re a big boy. You can wait that long.”

“Just...just do it. Please.”

Zach makes the mistake of glancing over, and he nearly slams on the brakes when he sees that Chris is blatantly kneading himself through his jeans, his legs splayed wide, his head tipped back against the headrest.

“We need to work on your willpower, Christopher,” Zach says darkly, forcing his eyes back to the road before he wrecks. “Get your hand off your dick.”

“Zach,” Chris whines.

“ _Now_.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Zach sees Chris move his hand out of his lap, and he hums in satisfaction.

“Good boy. I’m not going to have you coming in your pants before I have a chance to get my hands on you.”

Chris makes a pained sound, and when Zach glances over again he is gripping the edge of his seat.

“Tell me where you think I can pull over, Chris.”

The fact that he isn’t discarding the idea out of hand seems to give Chris hope, and he sits up a little straighter in his seat and starts looking around, as if he is trying to figure out where they are.

“Turn right at the next stop sign,” he says after a moment. “There’s some new construction down that way. Empty houses. We can stop there.”

“Or we can just go back to your house. To your bed.”

Rather than answer him, Chris reaches out and takes Zach’s right hand off the steering wheel, then presses it to his crotch. Zach can feel Chris, hot and rigid, straining against the zipper of his jeans, and he squeezes instinctively, drawing a groan from Chris’s mouth.

“Oh my god. You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” Zach squeezes again, and he can actually _feel_ Chris’s dick twitch and harden more under his hand. It’s heady, to be wanted that badly. He is already getting hard himself. Against all his better judgment, he takes Chris’s advice and turns right at the stop sign.

From there, Chris directs him, as best as he can with Zach’s fingers petting his dick, to a dark, quiet cul-de-sac, where half-finished skeletons of houses loom over them. If Zach was in a position to be picky about their surroundings, he might note that it isn’t the most romantic place for a tryst, but he is about to have sex in a car for the first time since he was nineteen, so he figures that beggars can’t be choosers.

Not that he will be taking on the role of the beggar tonight. No, that will be Chris. Chris, whose hips are bucking up into Zach’s hand like being fondled through his jeans is the best thing that has ever happened to him. Chris, who isn’t so much moaning as he is _whining_ , his lips parted around a high-pitched, keening sound that only seems more insistent when Zach finally pulls his hand back, puts the car in park, and kills the engine.

Chris is unbuckling his seat belt and climbing across the center console before Zach can even process what is happening. Somehow, he manages to maneuver himself into straddling Zach’s lap, and though the steering wheel must be digging into his back a little bit, he doesn’t seem to care. He leans in and pants against Zach’s lips and scrabbles at his fly, and it takes Zach a good minute or two to catch up and regain some semblance of control.

“Jesus, Chris,” he murmurs, grabbing Chris’s wrists and stilling them for a moment. Even though they should probably do this quick, he is a little afraid that if Chris gets a hand on him now it’ll be _too_ quick. “Maybe I need to get you all hot and bothered while we’re out in public more often.” 

Chris leans in to mouth at Zach’s jaw and grind their pelvises together shamelessly. “Fuck you,” he says into Zach’s skin, his tone more playful than annoyed. “You dragged me out for three nights in a row, paraded around like the cock of the walk, kept introducing me to your friends like I’m your favorite pet…”

Zach isn’t really hearing anything that explains why Chris has decided they need to have semi-public sex right fucking now. In fact, said like that, it sounds like he should probably be a little mad at him, not desperately trying to get his wrists free from Zach’s grip so he can go back to trying to get his pants open.

“You like being my favorite pet?” Zach hedges, faking confidence that, for once, he isn’t sure he feels. This is the kind of stuff that makes or breaks relationships. He and Chris are still new enough that it’s a little nerve-wracking to venture beyond straight-forward screwing into the realm of kinky and possessive. In an effort to distract himself from how heavy the moment has gotten, Zach tilts his head to the side to give Chris better access to his neck. Maybe he won’t even answer. Maybe they’ll just keep necking and dry-humping like desperate teenagers and there will be no need to confront any scary new feelings.

“Yeah.” It’s more of a sigh than a word, but it’s just what Zach needed to hear. It loosens something in his chest. He releases Chris’s wrists, slides his hands up his arms. 

“You’re my favorite everything,” he finds himself murmuring. It’s more sappy than he meant to be, but it just seems to light even more of a fire under Chris, who rolls his hips forward again and sets his teeth against Zach’s neck.

With his hands finally free, Chris makes short work of Zach’s fly and presses their foreheads together as he slips a hand into Zach’s briefs and gets his fingers around him.

“Keep talking,” Chris gasps, as if he’s the one who just had a large, hot hand wrapped around his dick.

“Fuck,” Zach groans. With one hand, he reaches down next to the seat and fiddles with the controls until he gets it to tip back a little bit. Then, he grabs Chris around the waist, tugging him forward. “Should have known you’d want to be claimed. Maybe you _hope_ someone sees, huh? Maybe you want everyone to know this belongs to me.” He smacks one of Chris’s jean-clad ass cheeks, and the sound of the slap echoes loud, reverberating through the quiet street in a way that makes Zach’s heart rate kick up a couple notches.

Chris’s hand--the one that’s wrapped around Zach--isn’t moving, presumably because he is too preoccupied with mauling Zach’s collarbone and rocking his erection into his thigh. 

“Yes, fuck yes.” Chris says, and Zach isn’t sure whether he is agreeing or just voicing his rapture.

“You want to ride me, baby?” Zach asks. He searches with his nose until he finds Chris’s earlobe, and then latches onto it with his teeth for a moment. The encouraging sound Chris makes add fuel to the fire of Zach’s bravery. “You want to sit on my cock out here in the open, like a dirty whore?”

“Jesus.” Chris plant a hand next to Zach’s should and pushes himself upright so he can look Zach in the eye. For a moment, Zach thinks he has gone too far, said too much in the heat of the moment, but then Chris rolls his hips deliberately, then shakes his head like he can’t believe what’s happening. Zach isn’t sure he can believe it either.

“Yours,” Chris says, like he’s making a correction. His eyes are soft. His tongue sweeps over his lips. “Just yours.”

“ _My_ dirty whore,” Zach agrees. The way Chris’s eyes light up is both absurd and exhilarating. This is it, Zach thinks. This is everything. This is all he wants for the rest of his life, Chris looking at him like this.

“Yes.” Chris’s voice comes out in a long hiss, and he withdraws his hand from Zach’s pants so he can work on his own. “Need you inside me, Zach.”

Zach bats Chris’s hands away and jerks open the button on his fly, then slides the zipper down, then abandons the task altogether in favor of skating his hands up under Chris’s shirt, caressing the smooth skin at his waist, petting at his happy trail, dipping his fingers into his belly button. Chris squirms, either because he’s ticklish or because he’s impatient or both. Zach doesn’t really care. All that matters is that Chris looks beautiful, his mouth agape, his features illuminated by moonlight. His hips rock against Zach’s again and again. It is so quiet on the empty street that their labored breathing sounds impossible loud to Zach’s ears, and he can’t imagine how people two streets over can’t hear them.

“Don’t tease me, Zach, please.” Zach can’t help but smirk a little bit, but he removes his hands from Chris’s shirt so he can lift them to his face and sweep his thumbs over his cheekbones. 

“You’re gonna have to turn around.” The way they are situated now, Chris would have to completely strip from the waist down to get Zach’s dick in him. It’s one thing to fuck in a car—it’s another thing entirely to completely remove all chance at plausible deniability. 

“Don’t want to,” Chris says. Zach doesn’t think he’s imagining that his lower lip juts out a little bit.

“Do you want me to fuck you or not?” Zach drops his hands to the small of Chris’s back, then dips his fingers under his waistband. He strokes his, then slides down a little further, just barely caressing Chris’s hole, delighting in the way the muscle quivers and Chris shudders and groans.

“Ah, fuck.” Chris seems caught between thrusting their hips together and shoving himself back into Zach’s fingers for a moment, but then he sucks in a deep breath and scoots back a little bit. “Okay. Okay.”

It takes several moments, a few grunts, and some narrow misses between elbows and softer body parts, but finally Chris manages to get himself turned the right way around, his ass pressed against Zach’s dick, his arms draped over the steering wheel. And even though Zach is aching to bury himself deep inside that warm hole that is only a few layers of clothing away, he instead takes the moment to scratch his fingernails up Chris’s back, under his shirt, and then lean in close to whisper in his ear.

“Remember how I said you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow?”

Chris whines and shimmies his hips backward, pressing insistently against Zach’s hard-on like he might be able to get it in him now if he just tries hard enough. “I remember,” he pants. “I’m counting on it.”

Zach chuckles darkly and shoves Chris’s hips forward again, then taps the outsides of his thighs to encourage him to close his legs a little so he can tug his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Because there’s no lube.” 

There is a pause that stretches on a little too long for Zach’s liking, and then Chris starts to stand up, as much as he can in the cramped space. For a tense moment, Zach thinks he has changed his mind and realized that this isn’t going to work and is going to pull up his pants and move back to his seat. But instead, he leans forward, plants his hands far out on the dash, bending over the steering wheel and presenting his ass to Zach’s face.

“Put your mouth on me,” he begs, lust-drunk enough that the words slur together. “Get me ready for you. Get me nice and wet.”

Zach groans and give himself a rough squeeze through his pants in attempt to stave off the need to come _right fucking now_. Then, he reaches out and grabs two handfuls of Chris’s ass cheeks, spreading him open. “Bossy,” he admonishes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the fact that he speaks it against Chris’s hole immediately before he flattens his tongue against it.

“Oh fuck,” Chris keens. “Zach, love your mouth. Jesus.”

Zach stabs at the tight ring of muscle just to feel it pulse against his tongue, then pulls back a little bit. “You know I love it when you talk dirty, baby, but you should probably keep it down.” He knows that the closest inhabited house is pretty far away, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. These hills echo.

Chris bites down on the side of his fist, and Zach smirks before he dives back in for more. He really goes for it this time, sliding his tongue across Chris’s entrance over and over until saliva is running down his chin and the muscle is relaxing under his attention and Chris is writhing back against his face like he can’t get enough. He pulls back enough to spit directly on Chris’s hole, then works the tip of his index finger inside him, humming in satisfaction when it sinks in easy. He doesn’t even bother sliding it all the way in, just withdraws it and then comes back with two.

“How’s that feel, gorgeous?” Zach asks as he scissors his fingers and nips at Chris’s tailbone. “Good?”

“So fucking good.” Chris shoves back onto Zach’s hand, and Zach twists his wrist and pets Chris’s flank with his free hand. He leans in again and mouths at the rim of Chris’s hole, then presses his tongue in alongside his fingers, making sure he gets him as wet and ready as possible.

“Zach,” Chris whines. “Zach, Zach, I’m ready. Come on.”

On any other day, in any other place, Zach might have teased him some more, made him really beg for it, but it’s probably best they don’t linger here, considering how much they are already pressing their luck. If anyone drove into the cul-de-sac right now, they would be treated to a lovely view of Chris’s bare ass, his dick trapped against the steering wheel, probably getting it messy with precome, his head thrown back, his pretty mouth gaping. 

Zach shudders at the mental image, then withdraws his fingers from Chris and reaches down to free his own cock from his pants. He brings his hand to his mouth and spits in it before giving himself a few tugs to slick himself up. It’s not KY, but it’ll do the trick, especially if Chris is as hell-bent on “feeling it” as he says he is.

“Okay,” Zach says, steadying himself with one hand and putting the other on Chris’s hip, urging him backwards. “Okay, baby. All ready for you. Sit on it.”

Chris reaches behind him and feels around for Zach’s dick. When he finds it, he wraps his fingers around it and Zach lets his own hand fall away so Chris can do all the work of lining himself up and sinking down onto him. It’s agonizingly slow at first, and even in the dim light Zach can see Chris’s arm trembling where he is bracing himself on the steering wheel, trying to give himself enough time to adjust. They are used to doing this at home, in bed, with plenty of lube and plenty of room, but in a lot of ways, this is just as good. The spike of adrenaline that comes from fear of getting caught. The fact that Chris wanted him so badly he couldn’t wait. It’s enough that when the head of Zach’s cock breaches Chris, it almost feels like the first time. He lets his head thunk back against the back of the seat with a groan.

“Shit,” Chris hisses.

“Take your time, Chris,” Zach says, even though he feels like he is going to come apart if he doesn’t bury himself balls deep immediately. 

“No.” Chris sounds like he’s arguing, but Zach doesn’t know what he’s arguing with. “Feels...feels so fucking good. Don’t want it to be over.”

Zach lets out a soft, fond laugh. Chris Pine, ladies and gentleman. _No, I’m not going slow because I’m trying to fit your monster dick in my ass with only spit to slick the way. I’m going slow because I never want it to end._ Zach flat-out adores him. He isn’t ashamed to admit it.

He can’t deal with the teasing though. He puts his hand on Chris’s waist, stilling him, then thrusts up. It’s a shallow thrust, but it still makes Chris cry out.

“Shh,” Zach warns. Then, because he’s a jerk, he does it again, sliding in a couple more inches. This time Chris says silent. Zach wishes so badly that he could see his face right now. He bets that he is biting his lip, and that it’ll be all red and plump when he finally releases it, just begging to be kissed. God, Zach wishes he could kiss him. 

Chris takes advantage of Zach’s pause to one-up him by sinking the rest of the way down on to Zach’s cock in one smooth motion that draws a groan from both of their mouths.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Chris hums, shifting his hips experimentally.

“This what you wanted?” Zach asks.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” Chris lifts up a fraction of an inch, then sinks down again. “Can never get enough of this.”

Zach’s hips want to move, but there’s nowhere to go. “Cockslut,” he rasps.

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t have such a--” He cuts himself off with a gasp when he pushes himself up a few inches and Zach immediately pulls him back down hard. “ _Fuck._ If you didn’t have such a fucking perfect cock, then I wouldn’t be such a slut for it.”

“Chris.” Zach reaches around a gets a hand on Chris’s leaking dick, just so he feels like the score is a little more even. “You’re going to have to shut up, or I’m not going to last.”

“‘M not gonna last either,” Chris admits.

“Then ride me, baby, come on. Make us both come. Do it.”

That is obviously the only encouragement Chris needs. He leans forward and braces his hands on the steering wheel, then starts up a rhythm that kindles a fire in Zach’s gut in no time flat. He lets out a steady stream of encouragements and endearments, urging Chris onward, telling him things he would be much more reluctant to say if it wasn’t the heat of the moment. Things like _always_ and _so perfect_ and _never stop_. Chris, on the other hand, has turned nonverbal. He drops his forehead into the crook of his elbow and lets out an endless string of sobs and moans, and after a while Zach gives up on shushing him.

Chris’s thighs are trembling—Zach can feel it every time he sinks down onto him—but he must be close, because his stomach muscles are bunching under Zach’s forearm.

“Touch yourself, Chris,” Zach tells him. “Let me…”

He lets go of Chris’s cock and settles his hands on his hips again, holding him in place, and then starts fucking up into him. He doesn’t have the greatest leverage, but they are both almost there anyway, so it’s okay if finesse falls by the wayside for now, even if Zach does usually take pride in his sexual prowess. And anyway, judging by the sounds Chris is making, he must be doing an alright job. All it takes is about a dozen hard, shallow thrusts before Chris is cursing and shuddering and spilling over his hand. Zach is right behind him, and he only has to buck a few more times into Chris’s clenching hole before he is coming too, filling Chris up with his spunk.

Chris flops back against Zach’s chest, tips his head against his shoulder, and pulls him around for an awkward, off-center kiss that quickly dissolves into them breathing heavily against each other’s mouths, trying to come down from their high. Zach is dimly aware of how sticky and gross he is, and how his pants may well be ruined, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much when Chris is sagging bonelessly against him and keeps letting out little contented sounds that make Zach want to kiss him again and again.

“Happy now?” he asks, sliding a hand up under Chris’s shirt to tweak one of his nipples.

Chris squeaks, then chuckles. “Very happy.” He sounds like he really means it. Zach’s heart flutters a little bit.

“You’re satisfied? You aren’t going to jump me again in a few blocks?”

“Hmm,” Chris hums thoughtfully. “Nah. I think I can at least wait until we get home.”

Zach rolls his eyes, but he is grinning from ear to ear. Chris might be the death of him, but he can’t think of a happier way to die.


End file.
